


The King Who Died

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Varian died but came back, demonic transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 06:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: Did you think you would die?  No, I will not let you die, not just yet, Varian Wrynn.  You have a purpose yet to serve, and a Master to give your obedience to.  You shall serve me and the Azeroth you sought to die for shall fear you and hate you and you will work towards its destruction just as you thought to die for it…This is inspired by two stories - Drago's excellent "Survivor's Remorse" and an idea in a part of the story "The Fall of Azeroth" by Deliliah.  I hope both authors don't mind me playing with their inspired concepts.This will only be two parts while I'm working details on my current work "Acts of Courage".  As far as I know, anyhow...





	1. Chapter 1

“You will be remembered as the King who died…for nothing….”

An explosion of light and pain, a scream that echoed through his mind and was choked off suddenly...

_He floated in darkness.  There was no pain, but nor was there the Light he’d expected to pass into.  Time had no meaning.  It could have been moments of an eternity.  It seemed only the time it took for a heart to beat before he heard the voice._

**_Did you think you would die?  No, I will not let you die, not just yet, Varian Wrynn.  You have a purpose yet to serve, and a Master to give your obedience to.  You shall serve me and the Azeroth you sought to die for shall fear you and hate you and you will work towards its destruction just as you thought to die for it…_ **

_He felt himself being pulled and forced into a form he knew instinctively was vile and he fought against it, struggling to break free and flee to the Light.  But the power that engulfed him was too strong.  He was torn, crying out to the Light, from the dark place he’d been in and thrust into life again, into the pain of awakening and the foul taint of the Fel…_

He opened his eyes and everything was wrong.  His vision was altered, everything had a vague green tint.  He was heavier in places he shouldn’t be, his balance was shot.  And when he raised a hand to wipe his face he saw it wasn’t a hand, it was…yes, a hand but darkly, roughly fleshed and the fingers were tipped with claws.  Spikes of various sizes grew from his arms.  He was looking at them, stunned and confused, when the voice spoke again, very close.

“So, Varian, what do you think of your new body?  I find it very attractive but I doubt you share my enthusiasm.”

Varian lifted his eyes, wavering a little to keep his balance, and saw Gul’dan standing a short distance away.  He grabbed for his sword automatically, snarling in fury – but there was no sword and the sound he made was guttural and far deeper than any sound he’d ever uttered before.

Gul’dan didn’t flinch – he merely smiled.  “I know, I do understand your natural urge to eviscerate me, since I did kill you, if for no other reason.  However,” he said, shuffling closer, “you will find yourself unable to act on these urges.  You see, I am warlock.  You are a demon.  Warlocks command demons, and I command you.  Kneel to me.”

The defiant curse came at the same moment as his knees bent to lower himself to the ground at Gul’dan’s feet.  He was no more able to resist that command than he could deny his altered state.  A large green-skinned hand took his chin and lifted it until he was looking up into the orc’s face.

“You see?  I command, and you obey.  You may fight me as much as you wish but it will mean nothing.”

“What..am I?”  He tried to pull his head back but he couldn’t move it, even an inch.  “What have you done to me?”

“I would have thought that was obvious.  I, ah, collected, your soul at the moment of death and preserved it.  I selected a suitable host, a human body that I had transformed into its current state, since I knew your soul would be more settled in something that had once been human.  You are a human form demon, my personal Felguardian.”  His smile was one of twisted satisfaction.  “You cannot deny what you are now, you will feel the fel inside you, infusing you, giving you strength.  In time it will corrupt your soul and you will no longer be Varian Wrynn.  But for now, you are – and that gives me great pleasure.”

He was commanded to stand and follow the warlock and for all that he fought the commands with every bit of his will, still he had to obey.  Anger curled through him, he panted with the fury of it.  Even walking was difficult and he almost stumbled when he saw that he now had a tail, and wings that rose above his head from his shoulders.  His head was heavy with a set of horns but his body carried itself well even so.  It was strong, stronger than he’d been in life.  But the thought of being condemned to live as a demon filled him with disgust.  _Somehow I’ll find a way out of this.  Whether though correction or transformation or death, I’ll find a way._

In the meantime, all he could do was walk in the footsteps of the one who had made and controlled him, and wait for his opportunity to break free.

 

The weeks that followed were a nightmare.  He was forced to kill his own people, often in the most dreadful ways and could not indicate, by as much as a gesture or a word, who he was or how horrified he was to be doing those things.  He participated in torture sessions upon prisoners and sometimes Gul’dan would reveal to them who he was, to see the horror on their faces before they died.  And not by the tiniest amount was he able to break that control.  Any whim, order or request he followed like a gnome mechanical creature, with no will of his own.  He would finish the day shaking, covered in blood and gore and Gul’dan would simply smile and order him to rest for a time and to eat things that Varian, in his most horrific nightmares, would never have considered as food.  Sometimes he was unable to stop the gag reflex and brought up what he’d taken in.  And sometimes starvation pushed him to try and eat even then, no matter that the meat was rotten and from sources he tried not think of.

What made it worse was that it was an automatic response to bring the stuff up.  To his demon body, it tasted fine.  He could crouch and feast upon the raw dismembered corpse of a horse three days dead and find it as tasty as the finest meal.  In time he just looked away as he ate and let his senses take over.  What smelled and felt and tasted acceptable was better than what his eyes told him.

But there was even worse to come.  It seemed that imprisoning Varian within a demonic form wasn’t sufficiently entertaining for Gul’dan, he also wanted degradation.  So it was that one evening as Varian lay in the area of Nighthold assigned to him, Gul’dan entered and stood just inside the doorway looking to where Varian lay sprawled on a nest of furs and fabric, surrounded by the leftovers of his most recent meal.  He chuckled as Varian stirred enough to look across at him through lowered eyelids.

“How the mighty have fallen, the High King of the Alliance feeding on things he probably doesn’t want to look at too carefully, and lying in the remains.  I find the sight quite…entrancing.” He walked slowly forward, hands slipping out from his sleeves.  “And you smell so good.  Old blood and tainted meat.  Come here.  On your knees.  Crawl to me.”

Varian crawled to him, wings stirring in irritation.  “You’re a thing of petty cruelty, Gul’dan.  Is this the sort of thing the Legion promised you?”

“It is often the small things that give the greatest pleasure, King.  And speaking of pleasure…”  He opened his robes, revealing his lower body.  “I want you to put your clever, insolent mouth to better use.  Use it on my organ and put some effort into it.  And watch your teeth, you have sharper ones than you are accustomed to.  Any harm to me and you’ll find yourself reborn into a diseased imp.”

Varian discovered that Gul’dan tasted good, which hardly surprised him.  He presumed the flesh of a warlock, especially the one controlling it, would be pleasing to a demon.  The act was certainly disgusting, not only from the shame of it but from the carnal sounds Gul’dan made.  The warlock held Varian’s horns, stroking and rubbing his hands around them and that felt good too on a level he didn’t care to consider too closely.  He had little difficulty in taking the cock into his mouth and throat – it appeared he was quite adaptable – and Gul’dan rutted in his mouth for some time before spending himself there.  And naturally when he was forced to swallow it, it didn’t taste nearly as bad as it should.

Gul’dan stroked his head as he pulled back and tucked himself away.  “Delightful, we must explore intimacy further at another time.  Now come with me, I wish to show you something.”

They walked together up through the Nighthold, ignoring the various Nighborne they met with a distain Varian couldn’t help sharing.  Those inept cowards had buckled under the Legion’s threats against their comfortable life and were stupid enough to believe that Sargeras would somehow spare them when he destroyed Azeroth.  Varian could almost forgive weakness, but self-indulgent folly on such a level was unforgivable.

Gul’dan seemed amused at his response to them.  “I see you have no love for these fools either.”

“Not particularly.  Weakness of body I can understand but stupidity on their level is something else.”

The orc chuckled as he pushed open a set of double doors leading outside.  “Indeed, I share your view on that.   The continued resistance by the Horde and the Alliance I can, to some degree, respect.  The Nighborne I hold only in contempt.”  He walked to the side of a large platform and stopped before a huge green crystalline object suspended in the air.  “Come give greeting to Illidan Stormrage.  Though he probably will not hear you.”

So, this was what had become of Illidan.  Varian walked forward and lifted his hand, then paused.  “Can I…?”

“Yes, touch it, feel it.  Feel the soon-to-be Destroyer of Azeroth.”

Varian placed his hand on the crystal and looked into it.  There was a dim shape within, motionless, held in permanent stasis by whatever the crystal was.  It felt cool and it buzzed very slightly.  “Isn’t he dead?”

“Temporarily.  His soul is in the Twisting Nether and cannot return to his body while it is thus frozen.  And when the body is released I will restore it to life and my Lord will  inhabit it.  When Illidan returns to it, they will be joined.  While Stormrage might be able to control a normal demon within him, Sargeras is another matter.”

“I wouldn’t have thought any normal mortal could survive such a joining,” Varian said, as he stepped back.

“The mage Medivh was possessed, but he was extremely powerful and Sargeras’ presence was largely hidden.  But Illidan is strong, very strong.”  Gul’dan moved next to Varian and tapped the crystal with his staff, making it vibrate and ring.  “Through him, Sargeras will work directly on this world.  And when he does, the ending will come.  The Burning Legion will triumph and neither you,” Gul’dan said with intensity, “nor anyone else on this world, will be able to resist him.”

For days afterwards Gul’dan sent Varian out into the Broken Isles, leading squads of demons and demonic servants to attack the Alliance forces.  He became a familiar and unwanted sight – various champions were despatched by Khadgar and other leaders to find and kill him but he slaughtered anyone who came against him.  In that he had no choice, his orders were clear and defined – kill anything not of the Legion that threatened him or his forces and say no word to anyone of who he was. 

His own fighting abilities, combined with the power and strength of a demon, were enormous.  As the fel continued to work upon him, he grew even stronger.  When he returned to Gul’dan, covered in the blood of his people and shaking with fury and grief, the warlock would take him on his knees, licking the blood from his skin and tasting his despair.  At times Gul’dan managed to force an unwilling orgasm out of him by the use of his cock, his hands and a power that Varian was becoming all too familiar with.   And afterwards Gul’dan would lie next to him, snuffling contently against his hot skin until he slept wrapped in his demon’s arms.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hidden in a grove of trees, the hunter watched the demon.  She’d been observing him for some hours, and she was worried.

He wasn’t like any Demon Lord she’d seen before.  He didn’t rant, didn’t shout threats, didn’t try to intimidate by boasting of his power or the might of the Legion.  He was quiet, almost still and the only ones he spoke to were his own demons.  When attacked directly he was ruthlessly efficient and his style was almost warrior-like, all rapid movements and focused aggression.  Not the usual mindless violence of a demon.

The forces he sent out worked with surprising coherence and direction.  There might not be huge numbers of them but they were far better organised than the norm.   They came to him for guidance and he sent them out to kill.

It seemed to her that the Legion bosses gave no thought to wastage.  They threw their demons against the Horde and the Alliance unconcerned at the attrition rate.  After all, demons were rarely permanently killed, they returned eventually.  But she thought this wasteful attitude made them careless.  This demon, however, almost treated his forces as if they were normal mortals, with precision and an excellent understanding of battleground forces.  And he was very clever.

And therefore very dangerous.  She turned, gathered her pet to her, and slipped into the undergrowth.  She needed to get back to the Lodge, she had a report to make…

 

* * *

 

Varian had sensed the hunter’s presence out among the trees.  She hadn’t attacked him, or his forces, and therefore Gul’dan’s command had not been triggered.  It was his choice what to do about her, and he’d let her remain untouched.  Not only because he could, but because he wanted to.  He suspected she doing a little spying, and that was exactly what he wanted.

The only escape that seemed available to him was death.   He’d fought any who attacked him but had not met anyone who could defeat him, and his cunning nemesis had foreseen he might want to deliberately lose, so Gul’dan had taken that into account in his commands as well.  Fight to the best of his abilities, that was the order, so he did despite the misery it caused him.

_“You will be known as Forlorn.  A most suitable name, I think.  So many meanings….”_

And that was how Gul’dan saw him – lost, alone, pitiful.   _But he has probably forgotten who and what I was in life.  He controls my actions and feels himself safe, in command.  But he does not control what I think and what I feel.  What he cannot touch he ignores.  More fool him._

 So he worked to fulfil Gul’dan’s purpose, and his own.  Victory and death, though not exactly the way the warlock anticipated.  He would become enough of a threat to cause Khadgar and the others to hunt him down.   And when he died, as die he eventually would - being mortal, his soul would not go to the Twisting Nether, he’d find the rest he’d earned.  And he would no longer be a danger to his people.

Strangely, Gul’dans sexual abuse of him shamed him less than his own actions.  Though he could tell himself that he was as much a victim for the latter as he was the former, still it was his hand that took the lives of his people.  So Varian continued to draw attention to himself by being that danger, and continued to hope that the ones in command would know how to deal with him.

When he returned to the Nighthold that evening, Gul’dan was elsewhere and had left no messages or orders for him.  He had a sudden need to be clean, something that had been low on his priorities of late.  Varian questioned one of the Nightborne and was directed to a bathing area.

A demon wanting to bathe caused something of a stir among the Shal’dorei and the room emptied before he’d finished removing his armour.

The water was hot, clean – and scented.  His nostrils pinched in dislike but it was cleansing, infused with some form of magic to wash away dirt.  Making his way to the deeper end of the pool, he submerged and soaked his hair, his wings spraying water in sheets as he resurfaced.  Feeling warm and comfortable, Varian slid through the water, feeling a little like some strange aquatic creature with his dripping wings and lazily swirling tail.

Once clean, Varian stepped out and squeezed the excess water from his hair, running his clawed fingers through it to remove the knots.  As he towelled himself dry, he grimaced at the stained armour lying in a heap on the tiles.   The idea of putting the bloody, filthy things back on didn’t please him and he kicked the armour aside.  He stepped over it and walked naked from the room.    _Time to scandalise the locals,_ Varian thought as he walked the Nighthold corridors leading to his room.  If any of the Shal’dorei _were_ scandalised, they didn’t seem inclined to mention it.

He sensed Gul’dan’s presence even before he entered his rooms.  It was a combination of things – not simply the link between them that the warlock had enforced with Varian’s rebirth, but the smell.  His senses were sharper of late and Gul’dan’s body odour was unique, it was almost like a scent trail in the air.  He was talking when Varian entered, giving orders to some of his subordinates.  He eyed Varian but didn’t pause and Varian walked across the stone floor to sit on a pile of pelts against one wall.  Gul’dan finished at last and sent the others away, then eyed Varian.

“Why are you naked?”

“I washed.  The gear was filthy.  I didn’t feel inclined to put it back on.”  He scowled at Gul’dan’s angry stare.  “What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, it is your attitude I don’t care for.  Stand next to me.”

He obeyed the unequivocal order and stood waiting for whatever came next.  What came was a single human dragged stumbling into the room by a huge Felhound.  It was a man, not that much older than his son by the look of it, wearing only the scraps of a robe.  A mage probably, from his slender, bloodied body.  The Felhound had him by the arm, its teeth digging into the skin through to the bone and he moaned as he was pulled forward.

Gul’dan spoke a word of command in demonic and the Felhound let the young man go, licking its lips and growling as it backed away.  Gul’dan spoke without turning his attention from the mage.  “Cut his legs off, above the knee.  The hound tells me it is hungry.”

As always, Varian was forced to follow the orc’s orders, his will entirely submerged by Guldan’s commands.  He wasn't even able to give the poor young man an easy, quick death and at the end of it, covered in blood and gore, he collapsed at Gul’dan’s feet, bringing up what little he had in his stomach.  Gul’dan pulled him up by his horns, dragging him to his knees, forcing his head up.

“That is what attitude gets you, King.  You will behave, you will be a docile, obedient servant and you will give me my due respect.  Tell me if there is anything of this you do not understand.”

He could only shake his head and curl up into a ball of misery, trying not to hear the sounds the Felhound made as it satisfied its hunger.

 

* * *

 

Khadgar passed the single sheet note to the Demon Hunter beside him. 

Kayn read it in silence once, then read it again.  “I have heard of this Demon Lord.  Forlorn it is called.  Your hunter is observant, this verifies earlier reports of it.  A cunning demon, not in the usual way.  It could become a serious threat.”  Kayn’s masked face turned towards Khadgar.  “We should send a suitable force against it and destroy it before it becomes stronger.”


	3. Chapter 3

The days blended together within the shadow of growing despair.  Each time he woke Varian would think, _perhaps today I will die, or another answer will occur to me._   But death did not take him and no solution that involved him living came to him.  The Legion was so strong, so immense, he wondered how he’d ever considered it could be defeated.  _Perhaps we don’t deserve to survive.  Perhaps the Legion is all there is, all there can be._

And when such thoughts came to him, he wasn’t certain if it was his own wavering beliefs or the fel taint insinuating itself into his soul.  He almost preferred to think it was the latter.  At least then it wasn’t his own weakness.

But it was becoming harder just to think.  To escape the terrible things he had to do, Varian found he could withdraw inside himself and build a wall made up of memories and feelings from his life and drift into a sort of waking sleep where he remembered bright moments of his life.  He could remember the smiling face of his wife, hear the laughter of his son, see morning light reflecting off white walls.  There, the pain he felt, the things he was forced to do, were happening to someone else, done by someone else.  It was a dangerous denial that he found difficult to forgo.

Gul’dan could drag him back from his safe haven whenever he realised Varian was taking that little retreat.  Not by forcing him to think, but to feel.   If the physical pain was harsh enough he couldn’t ignore it, and naturally the warlock was very good at inflicting pain.  He discovered that Varian’s wings were sensitive and on one occasion he broke the major bone in one of them to catch his attention. 

Varian remembered that moment well.  He’d huddled in a crouch, the wing laying on the floor while Gul’dan stamped on it again and again, chuckling at the brittle snap as another bone cracked under his foot.  Varian couldn’t stop whimpering at the terrible pain, and that pleased the warlock.  He ground his foot onto the break and held it there as Varian howled low in his chest.  “Listening to me now, are you, my pet?  Paying attention?  You will learn not to block me out if I have to break every bone in your body.”

The only way to stop the punishment was to let Gul’dan have his coin of despair and Varian gave it finally, tearing long scratches in the floor with his claws and finally pressing his face to Gul’dan’s hand like the beast the warlock wanted him to be.  Chest heaving, he could only wait until Gul’dan finished with his punishment and ran a thumb over his demon’s wet cheeks.

“Good.  Now tell me – who owns you?  Who gives you pain that takes away thought and brings it back again?  Who?”

“You.  You do.”  His voice wavered, shamefully weak, and Gul’dan nudged him away with his foot.

“Remember it.  Now go and have it attended to, and bring me something to eat on you return.”

He wondered, as he lay in his pile of furs nursing the repaired wing, just what terrible thing he’d need to do to force his people to kill him.  He hoped, for the sake of his soul, that it wouldn’t be too awful a thing.

 

Varian lay on his back, wings crumpled beneath him, his body anguished and bleeding.  Slashing wounds covered almost every part of him, made by the glaives of almost a dozen Demon Hunters.  He’d fought them hard, as hard as he was forced to and even as he did his heart sang with relief.

Death, it seemed, was coming to him at last.

They’d attacked him in force, twelve or more Demon Hunters coming at him together from different directions, as well as a mixed force of attackers taking on his demon group.  The fight was frantic, violent and deadly and as he was struck again and again he felt himself weakening from blood loss and the damage to his body that made movement increasingly difficult.

Finally spent, shaking in pain, he’d collapsed, hardly able to see or to feel anything but pain.  There was a ringing in his ears and it was difficult to breathe.  His heart beat a frantic rhythm as it fought to keep him alive despite his wishes.

The face of a Demon Hunter appeared above him and he waited in anticipation of a killing blow…but it didn’t come.  He heard broken phrases, shouts, a tremor as if something touched him and the light started to dim.  The last thing he saw was Khadgar’s shocked features hovering above him.  A hand reached out, there was a flash of light, and then darkness.

 

* * *

 

“Kayn, are you absolutely certain?”

The Demon Hunter turned his hooded face towards Khadgar and gave a brief nod.  “Absolutely, Archmage.  If there is one thing I can tell with complete certainty, it is the difference between a demon and a mortal.  The soul inhabiting that body,” he said, flicking a hand towards the big figure on the floor, “is entirely mortal.”

Khadgar turned back to the unconscious figure lying encircled by a demonic energy barrier.  To his eyes it looked demonic with its huge wings, tail, horns and fel-marked skin.  His power was magical, he had no way to tell anything significant about a demon other than when it used any magical abilities.  Yet Kayn had pulled his people back from attacking Forlorn when he’d realised what they faced.

_A human soul in a demon’s body.  What foul purpose could such a thing possibly serve?  And was it willingly done by the person or was it forced on them?_

If the former, then the soul would be corrupt beyond belief, despite being mortal.  But if there was even the smallest chance that it was a human soul imprisoned there, forced to do the Legion’s bidding, they had to hold off on slaying it.  It would be like killing a helpless prisoner.

He set healers to care for it, keeping it unconscious while they worked on its battered body.  When they’d repaired all that they could, they reported to him on a list of injuries that astonished him.  It made the probability of it being an unwilling soul even higher, especially the disgusting news that it – he – had been sexually abused. 

_Just what kind of monster would do such a thing?_

He dismissed everyone and pulled up a chair to wait for his prisoner to wake.  They’d placed him in the Violet Hold but not inside one of the cells – there were guardians at the door and he felt his own powers were sufficient to protect him in the very unlikely event that the demon could break the enforcement barrier.  While he waited, he studied the demon’s body.

It – _he, call him he, he isn’t a thing -_ wasn’t Eredar, he appeared to be a human form despite the presence of wings and a tail.  He had feet instead of hooves and his facial features were clearly human.  The skin was a dark grey except where the fel markings shone green on his arms and chest.  The healers had removed his armour during the healing and the gear was set aside as unnecessary.  In his nakedness his injuries were clear, there was barely an inch of his skin unmarked by red puffy scars. 

“You are a battered thing, aren’t you.  However did you manage to survive?”

“Stubborn….”

He straightened at the low whisper.  “Ah, awake at last.  How do you feel, or is that a stupid question?”

“A little…stupid.”  He turned slowly onto his side and then up, large tattered wings sliding behind him.  “Hurting, which means I am not dead.  Sadly.”

“You wanted to die?”

“Yes.  I…appreciate…your clemency but it’s wasted on me.  I deserve death.”

“Allow me to judge that.  May I know your name?”

Green eyes focused on him, vivid lights shimmering in their depths.  “Call me Forlorn.  It’s what he did, it’s a good enough name for a walking corpse.”  Forlorn touched the barrier with a finger and hissed.  “I’m a dead thing, Archmage, just not quite buried.   True compassion would be to give this soul its release.”

Khadgar leaned back in the chair, watching the big figure stir as he tested his injured body.  He sounded genuine but Khadgar wasn’t all that good at assessing body language.  Even so his instincts told him that the spirit inside that great battered body wasn’t evil.  “I don’t believe in suicide and I’m not into mercy killing.  If you feel you deserve death then maybe you need to find a reason to deserve to live.  It’s a far more worthwhile objective.”

“I’m not feeling up to morale bolstering at the moment, Archmage.  And if I told you just how many people I’ve personally tortured and mutilated and killed, you’d probably agree.” The voice was bitter and angry and the green eyes flashed.

“I might, or I might not, I’m rather unpredictable.  Anyhow ,” he said, standing, “you need to rest and I need to consider what to do about you.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Khadgar returned the next morning.  He brought along a big jug of steaming tea and some hot biscuits.  He poured a cup of the tea for his guest and transported it, along with some of the biscuits, in to him.

“I thought you might like something warming, this place is a bit on the chilly side.”  He broke one of his own biscuits open and spread butter on the steaming halves.  “Hmm, I do love hot fruit biscuits.  Do demons enjoy biscuits?”

The prisoner bit into of his, savouring the sweet taste.  “Dunno about demons, but I certainly do.  Although this body will eat almost anything that can’t get away from it.”

Khadgar almost choked on his mouthful of food.  “Good Lords, I hadn’t considered that.  I suppose you are ruled by the physical requirements rather than what your mind might otherwise appreciate.”

“You could say that.  But yes, I still enjoy human food if only for its relative cleanliness.”

They ate and Khadgar guided the conversation to learn as much as he could without seeming to interrogate.  One question occurred early on.  “You told me your demonic name, but not your real one.  May I know it now?”

“If you wish.  It’s Thoradin.”

“Thoradin.  It’s a good name.  Wasn’t there an ancient king with that name?”

Thoradin nodded as he worked a biscuit apart with his clawed fingers.  “First human king on Azeroth if I recall correctly.  Founder of the Arathi line.”

“Ah yes.  I do remember reading about him back when I was a student and…”  He paused as he heard a stirring at the entry behind him.  Khadgar turned in time to see Anduin, accompanied by Kayn and a squad of Stormwind Royal Guards, appear through the entry ward.  He stood and turned towards him.  “Anduin!  I was not expecting you!”

“Hullo Archmage.  I was informed of the situation and that you required a priest.  I must admit I was curious and volunteered to help.”

Khadgar caught sight of a flicker of movement and turned his head towards Thoradin.  The big figure was standing very close to the shield and his entire attention was fixed on Anduin.  There was something intense in that stare – intense, Khadgar thought, but not aggressive.  Almost as if he was pleased, or happy.  _Hard to tell expressions on a demonic face, but he doesn’t look dangerous._

The young King moved forward with a great deal more assurance than Khadgar was accustomed to.  He’d known Anduin since birth and – probably like so many others – was used to thinking of him as the pale, blonde boy in Varian’s substantial shadow.  But with his father’s death the Prince had become King of Stormwind and was required to stand alone.  It would have been a shock for anyone, especially in the wake of the sudden grief he had to have experienced.  But he seemed to be maturing almost while Khadgar watched.   The boy Prince was gone and in his place was the King that he felt Varian would have been proud of.

The King turned from Khadgar towards the sparkling walls of the small cell, stepping close to look up into the demonic features of their prisoner.  “Hullo.”

“Hullo.”  Thoradin cleared his throat.  “That is, greetings, your Majesty.”

“I am pleased to meet you…”  He paused, head tilting in inquiry.  “I am sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Thoradin.  My name is Thoradin.” 

That initial intensity that Khadgar had observed was still there in the tension in the voice and the rigidly erect posture.  If Anduin noticed it, he didn’t react, but simply stood with his hands linked behind his back.  “Do you know why I am here?”

“Yes.  I was told a priest would make judgment on my soul.”

“Correct.  I am to assess it, to see if it is corrupted.  If it is…”  He stopped, and Khadgar saw the shadow pass over the King’s face.  Thoradin took in a deep breath, chest shuddering.

“If it is, you’ll release me to the death I’ve more than earned.  And if there is corruption, I will welcome it.”  The green eyes watching Anduin so intently gleamed.  “It would give me comfort should you be the one to release me to the Light.”

“I appreciate your words, but let’s hope it isn’t necessary.  Khadgar,” Anduin said, still looking up at Thoradin’s face, “please create an opening in the ward.  I need to touch our guest.  One large enough for him to place his arm through is sufficient.”

Khadgar considered for a moment, weighing the dangers.  Such a small gap was unlikely to provide the demon with any advantage, not with his presence and that of the guards and Demon Hunter.  He called up the necessary magics and removed the power from a small patch of the ward. 

“Thank you, Archmage.  Now Thoradin, if you would kindly slide your arm through the gap, I need to touch you so that I may gain a more precise reading.”  He waited until Thoradin did as requested, then carefully placed a hand on the demon’s arm.  “Oh, you are very warm.  Are all demons so hot to the touch?”

Thoradin had swayed a little as Anduin’s hand came to rest on him, but he steadied himself and held very still.  “I…don’t know…sorry…can’t remember.  Perhaps.”  The touch of the King’s hand had certainly caused a reaction though Khadgar couldn’t exactly say what.  Yet he sensed no danger though he kept a constant guard, as centred on keeping Anduin safe as were the others gathered around him.

He watched as Anduin’s head dipped and as he called on the Light.  The air sparkled and brightened around him.  “There may be some small discomfit,” he muttered as he raised his eyes to look at Thoradin.  “Try and stay calm.”

The arm Anduin’s hand rested on twitched and the demon’s body shuddered as a wave of misty light flowed into him.  Yet he held himself motionless, other than the increased surging of his breath.  Ripples of sensation flowed over his skin, touching the dark, rough flesh with sparks.  The big wings flickered behind him as if moving in an unseen wind.  And then Anduin pulled his hand back and sighed, a deep, satisfied sound.

“Excellent.  You did well.”  He turned to Khadgar and swallowed audibly.  “That was quite intense.  I am very pleased to say that his soul is entirely uncorrupted.”  His gaze swung back to Thoradin.  “Your soul is your own, and it is no more evil than any other human’s spirit.”

The big figure straightened and wiped a shaking hand across his face.  “Thank you.”

“Of course there are shadows, signs of pain and of the terrible things done to you and done by you.  But the things you did, there is no sign any of it was willingly done, no indication you delighted in what you did.  I am sorry you have been kept a prisoner here, Thoradin.  You are as much a victim of the Burning Legion as any who have suffered at their hands.”   He was about to leave when he turned, head to one side.  “Have we met before?  Your spirit felt very familiar.”

Thoradin’s eyes focused on the King’s face, and he was barely blinking.  “I…do not believe so.”

“Perhaps it is simply that we share similar griefs.  I sensed you were a father.”

“Yes, I had a son.  A very special boy.  I…loved him…very much.”

“He is gone?”

“Yes.”  Thoradin’s voice was deep and his head dipped, dark hair swirling over his shoulders.  “He is gone.”

Anduin nodded slowly as he gave a small, sad smile.  “I lost my father so I understand your grief.  There has been so much loss, so much pain.”

“Your father would…be proud of you.”

“Thank you.  And I hope you find the peace you deserve.”

 

* * *

 

It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done to be in his son’s presence and not reach out to him, to tell him, to be able to take and hold him.  But he couldn’t do it. 

Anduin had lost his father on the Broken Shore, gone down to an heroic death facing his enemy – or so he believed.  He was King now, a leader of his people and he would be a good one.  His path to the future was difficult enough without being burdened with the knowledge of what Varian had become.  No matter that he said he forgave, that Varian’s soul was uncorrupted, there would still be the dreadful things he’d done under Gul’dans command, and although the Demon Hunter had confirmed the little fel still within him wasn’t a risk – still, he was what he was, and what he would always be.

A thing.  A creature no longer human, a battered human spirit lodged in a demon’s body.  To lose his father had been terrible for him, to find him again but turned into what he was, that was something he shouldn’t be required to endure.  Better to live with a proud memory than a tainted truth.


	5. Chapter 5

And a day later, Varian felt Gul’dan die.

For Varian, Gul’dan’s death was like the release of a chain.  The rebound made him stagger as the sense of freedom and release flushed through him. 

 _Dead.  He’s dead.  Thank the Light!_  

With the warlock’s death, the last threat that Varian might succumb to his control was removed.  He could no longer be compelled and was once more the master of his own life.  What life there was.  He’d accepted it was unlikely that anything could be done about his body.  Demons had, now and then, been reformed, but his was not a demon soul, it was human.  While he knew little of magic and its possibilities and limitations, he could not see how anything could be done.  To remove his soul would be to kill him – and that might be his only way out.

Khadgar came to visit the next day with news of Gul’dan’s death and was mostly unsurprised that he already knew it.

“I thought that might be the case.  You mentioned that he’d controlled your actions, controlled you in effect.  I presume you have your free will again, now that he is dead.”

“Yes, I’m very grateful to whoever managed it.”  Varian was seated inside the small containment area, his wings curled around him for warmth.  “I would really like to get out of here.”

“No sooner said than done.”  The Archmage raised his hands and uttered a complex phrase of arcane chanting, and the fel cage disappeared.

Varian stood and stepped forward, and gave Khadgar a brief bow.  “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.  Have you had any thoughts as to what you might do now?”

“Many thoughts, no ideas.  I suppose I will go…somewhere, and consider my options.”

Khadgar walked with him to the entry, motioning him through past the still-watchful guardians.  “You are welcome to stay in Dalaran as long as you need to, but – can you not go home?  Do you have living relatives, family, who could give you a place to stay?”

“No. And even if I did, I doubt I’d receive a warm welcome looking like this,” Varian said, waving a hand over his large body.  “In the short term though, I would appreciate it if you could arrange some clothing for me.  My form is difficult enough, not need to further shock the locals.”

Khadgar laughed and led Varian through the Hold and out to a private room.  “I think I can manage that.  If you wait here, I’ll have a leatherworker come and fit you with something appropriate.”

 

Varian stood before the row of portals in the Dalaran Alliance enclave with no plan and no idea where to go.

The portal to Stormwind flickered, showing indistinct image and the impulse to go through and see his city again was powerful.  But he didn’t, because he couldn’t – what purpose would it serve?  Despite its foolishness, the urge to just walk forward and step through was intense.  It was his home, and it was a home he could never return to.

Misery clutched at his heart, making it thump.  _I am alone.  There is not another like me, there is no one to touch me, to be with me as a companion, to share moments of my life with.  If it’s even really a life at all…_   He was so used to being part of something, and now he was a part of nothing.

“Greetings, friend.”

He twitched and swivelled his head towards the voice.  A large male Pandaren was standing a short distance away, a friendly smile on its open, furry face. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No reason why you should, but I like to think strangers are just friends I haven’t met yet.”  He moved closer and made an elegant bow.  “I will introduce myself and so not be a stranger.  I am Chen Stormstout.  Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“I have indeed.  You are a famous Pandaren.”

Chen grinned, golden eyes bright.  “That’s very kind of you.  You look like someone who could do with a beer.  Would you care to join me?  I, personally, find that drinking a beer with someone is a good way to lift one’s mood – not to mention quenching their thirst.  Of course, I may be a bit prejudiced since my family has been brewing the best beer in the world for a very long time..”

Varian found himself following the chatty Pandaren to the Legerdemain Lounge where they acquainted themselves with the tavern’s range of beers.  None of them, according to Chen, matched his own famous brew but a few were adequate.  Varian’s mood lifted under the influence of the friendly Pandaren, as well as a number of mugs of beer and a plate of food.  Naturally Chen was very curious about him and it was hard to resist his friendly questions.

“A demon you say?  How wondrous to be so very singular and special..”

“I wouldn’t call me special.”

Chen thumped his arm, grinning.  “Of course you are!  I am singular and special, that dwarf over there is singular and special.  We are all one-of-a-kinds, quite unlike any that have gone before us.  You are even more so.   Do you know,” he said, in an intense whisper, “I have observed that we are each of us the centre of our own universe.  The trick is, to make that universe superior.  Nothing worse than being a merely ordinary universe.”

At the end of it, without quite knowing how, Varian found himself accepting Chen’s invitation to return with him to Pandaria.  There was a sense of rightness to it that he couldn’t shake off, so with his pack of worldly goods over his shoulder and a staff given to him by his new friend, Varian stepped through the portal into the Vale of Eternal Blossoms.

There would be many adventures for him in the days that followed.  Along with Chen he travelled the roads of Pandaria.  He visited Yu’Lon in the Temple of the Jade Serpent and sat for a time that could have been moments or hours talking with the great Celestial dragon.  She soothed his heart and lifted his spirit and showed him that what was outside a man meant little compared to what was in his heart and mind.

He travelled north to Kun-Lai, to the Temple of the White Tiger, and found an unexpected home among the Pandarens there.  Xuen, the great Celestial tiger, greeted him as a brother warrior.  “I admire wolves,” he said in his deep, rich voice, “they are almost as cunning and mighty a fighter as tigers.  Thought not, perhaps, as handsome…”  He spent some weeks there imparting his experience to the trainees.  More than one of them envied his wings and wished they too could fly.

And he found hope when he conversed with Chi-Ji in the Temple of the Red Crane, something he thought he’d lost but that the August Celestial informed him gently he had only misplaced.  Hope, the August informed him, was what made one take the next step on whatever road they travelled.

He had something of a revelation one fine spring morning as he sat on a grassy verge next to a road eating cheese and bread and sharing Chen’s beer.  “You finding me wasn’t an accident, was it, Chen.”

“Oh no, not an accident, my friend.”  Chen sighed as he looked up at the clear sky.  “The Celestials sent me to find you.  I do not know exactly why – they are sometimes hard to understand being greater than we mere mortals – but I think they felt you were…are…very important in the scheme of things.  They wanted to help you find yourself again and seek your path.  Well, the path-finding part of it is up to you of course.”  He grinned, and knocked his tankard against Varian’s.  “Me, I’m just here for the beer!  But I hope we have also become friends, and that whatever this path of yours is, you’ll let me travel it with you.  Sounds like it will be fun!”

 

 _Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,_  
_Healthy, free, the world before me,  
_ _The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose._

_Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,_  
_Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,_  
_Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,  
_ _Strong and content I travel the open road._

_From “Song of the Open Road” by Walt Whitman_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't certain whether or not Varian had met or seen Chen before and rather than spend ages searching through the lore and game material, I decided that for the purposes of my alternate universe, they hadn't met.


	6. drawing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drawing added

I did a drawing of demonic Varian, which is at the bottom of the first part.


End file.
